The Way Home
by Psycho Lullaby
Summary: Christmas Fic written for a friend. Roy grieves over Hughes's death. Ghost!Hughes tries to cheer him up!


Title: The Way Home

**Title**: _The Way Home_  
**Author**: **psycholullaby**  
**Rating**: PG  
**A/N**: Written for **loreamara** and originally posted here. For **elricmas**, she requested something happy or humorous featuring Roy and Ghost!Hughes. Hope the holidays treated you well 3

Two weeks, three days, six hours, ten minutes, and thirty-six seconds since that beautiful afternoon, that impeccably well-kept lawn, that sound of trumpets, quiet sobs, and a child's desperate pleas. Thirty-seven seconds, thirty-eight, thirty-nine, and he could feel the coarseness of his formal military uniform against his skin, that weight on his heart, the touch of the First Lieutenant's hand on his shoulder. Forty, forty-one, forty-two…

"Colonel?"

_shit_

Roy Mustang visibly tensed in his chair and pulled his eyes away from the clock on the far wall to meet those of Second Lieutenant Havoc. The look of concern plastered across his subordinate's face was becoming a familiar and irritating sight, and Roy couldn't quite understand why that look was becoming so damn popular among his men. It's not like spacing out during work was an unusual habit of his. It was practically routine, but ever since the _incident_ with Hughes, everyone had it in their minds that there was now cause for concern.

"What is it?" He growled. Havoc steeled himself against Mustang's harsh tone and handed the man another file of paperwork for him to look over.

"Hakuro wants you to have these taken care of by tomorrow morning."

Roy flipped through the documents without really seeing them, and then slapped them on top of all the other papers scattered across his desk. He glared back up at Havoc.

"It's almost seven o'clock," Roy replied, adding just a bit more venom to his response. Havoc shrugged and offered a half-hearted smile around the unlit cigarette protruding from his mouth.

"I could stick around a while longer and help ya out," he said. Roy narrowed his eyes and glanced around Havoc at the empty office. Fuery, Breda, and Falman had all left at their usual time, and Roy had dismissed Hawkeye a little after six. The woman had _actually_ insisted he wait until tomorrow to finish his work, and he could barely stand the way she looked at him. She had a hard face, but her eyes gave her away, and he hated seeing her worry over him. Now Havoc was doing it too.

"Pass. I can take care of things myself."

Havoc stood silently as Mustang grouped documents together and tapped them against the desktop to even them out. The Colonel looked worn out and in serious need of a good night's sleep. For the past three weeks, Havoc couldn't remember a single night that Mustang didn't do overtime at the office, and while his efforts to advance in the ranks were initially smiled upon, particularly by Riza who encouraged this type of dedication, the overall opinion on his drastic shift in work ethic quickly changed.

The Colonel would be on a roll for the first part of the morning, completing every assignment given him in a timely fashion, but by noon each day he'd resign himself to an eerie daze and end up being overloaded with work that he'd have to stay late to finish. At first, Havoc didn't suspect much of this behavior, but more often than not; the Colonel would stare at the clock and count under his breath. It was starting to creep him out.

"You're still here Havoc," Roy said, focusing on the file he'd currently opened before him, pen in hand. Havoc took a deep breath.

"With all do respect, Sir. Why not just call it a night? You've bit kinda…off lately, and I think maybe you should take a break for a while."

Roy tightened his grip on the pen, but never looked up. After a lengthy silence, he mumbled, "Good night, Havoc," to which Havoc sighed and replied "Good night, Sir."

Once Havoc had left, Mustang relaxed and centered himself. He was determined to get this work out of the way and be home by 8:30, but as much as he tried to drown out the sound, he could still hear the clock ticking away, counting every moment since he had watched them lower his best friend into the ground.

By 7:59, Roy was at the bottom of his fifth whiskey glass and no longer concerned with the clock or the possible repercussions for his actions.

He'd confiscated the alcohol from some of the younger men in the dorms, threatening to have them kicked out for smuggling the drink beneath the eyes of the guards in preparation of an unauthorized gathering which would likely include cheaply bought women. Roy briefly wondered how they had planned on getting the whores in as well but didn't bother asking. Instead, he gave the boys a stern lecture on proper conduct along with orders to review the military's policy regarding their behavior. _Amateurs_

Originally he'd planned on saving the booze until he returned home to his apartment, but considering he was the only one still at the office, what did it matter? He then chuckled bitterly to himself at the thought of Hawkeye discovering his private stash and swirled the last of the brown liquid in his glass before tipping it down his throat.

He leaned back in his leather chair and studied the bottle sitting on the desk before him.

"Heh," he snorted, leaning forward again to pick the bottle up and examine it more closely. "Hughes's brand." He closed his eyes and choked on a laugh. What a cruel coincidence that he try to drown his sorrows with Hughes's favorite brand of whisky. Ha! Ha ha ha. He couldn't stop himself from laughing, wiping at his eyes and giving into another wave of senseless giggling before burying his face in folded arms. His body was shuddering from the force of it, and that was when it happened.

The office lights overhead flickered. Roy lifted his head a bit, vision fuzzy from the alcohol as well as previously having his eyes pressed against his forearm, and he swore he saw a figure standing just beyond the edge of his desk when the lights suddenly cut off.

"Damn it," he muttered, reaching forward to switch on his desk lamp which for some strange reason seemed to be fully operational despite the apparent blackout the rest of is office was experiencing. The lamp offered enough lightening for his desk, but everything else remained in shadow. Roy squinted out into the dark and saw…blue. There was a dark blue blur hovering in front of him, with streaks of silver slapped across it. Roy tilted his head up, eyes still straining to make a person out of this colored mess, because he was still just coherent enough to recognize a military uniform.

"Aw, buddy. What are you doing?" the figure before him inquired, and Roy gaped stupidly up at the bespectacled man above him. Same rectangular glasses, same scruff about the chin, same annoying stray hair that no amount of gel would ever keep out of his eyes, and same twin arched eyebrows accompanied by a concerned frown.

"H-Hughes?" Roy stuttered, and the man grinned in reply. Roy eyed the individual who bore a striking resemblance to his _dead_ friend skeptically and determined him to be a hallucination brought about by grief, shadows, and a considerable amount of alcohol. After all, Roy did had a private history of war flashbacks that resulted in a momentary melding of past and present, so it wouldn't be entirely unreasonable to believe that the man who was known for smacking sense into him whenever he was doing something stupid would appear now to lecture him. So after the brief pause in which he decided this, Roy relaxed and said "Oh." He then returned his head to its resting place on his desk with a loud thump.

"Uh, Roy! Hey!" The 'determined hallucination' protested, but he was met with a quiet snore and nothing else. "Eh…I don't think this is going to go over too well in the morning."

Roy awoke bright and early with a delightfully horrific throbbing between his temples and an extremely pissed off subordinate slamming his office door closed behind her. He blinked repeatedly before attempting to sit up, groaning at the effort. By the time he had pressed himself firmly against the back of his leather chair, Hawkeye had picked up the whiskey bottle from his desk and was surveying the remaining contents disapprovingly. Her jaw was clenched tight and there was that peculiar fury in her eyes that only appeared with Mustang had severely disappointed her. Her budding anger made him want to shrink into that cozy chair and retreat back to the comfort of sleep even more.

"I will inform his Excellency that you will not be in attendance today, Sir." She kept her voice low, but firm.

"That won't be necessary," he said, careful not to meet her eyes. He moved to straighten up his workspace, but she placed her hand upon the stack of papers he meant to file and waited until he looked up at her.

"Sir," she said in a voice even lower than before. "You've not been yourself since the funeral, and your behavior is unsettling your men. We've tried to persuade you to take some time off to collect yourself and we've done our best to respect your choice to refuse our advice. However, I cannot allow you to jeopardize your career like this, Sir. If you insist on continuing to do so anyway, I will have no other choice than to go above you and request your leave is enforced."

Roy opened his mouth to reprimand Hawkeye for talking down to him when he could handle himself just fine, but an eerily cheerful voice from behind him cut him off.

"She's right Roy. You're pushing yourself too hard. Why not take a few days off to relax?"

Roy glanced over his shoulder to see a partially transparent version of Hughes leaning against the windowsill, the morning light shining through him and across the floor. Roy couldn't do more than stare and mentally replay every cliché explanation denying the existence of the ghost talking to him. Somewhere, he heard Hawkeye call his name and nearly jumped out of his skin when she touched his shoulder.

"Sir?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. Mustang's face had paled, his eyes were wide, and sweat trickled down his face. She looked over the chair at the window but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes questioned what could have startled him so much, but he merely shook his head.

"You're right, Hawkeye. Send General Hakuro and the Fuhrer my apologies. I was unable to complete the paper work for their meeting today. I'll do it first thing tomorrow morning." Roy quickly composed himself as best he could, stopping beside his desk to cast a shameful look at the remains of last night's poor decisions. Hawkeye must have noticed this, because she reassured him that she would clean up before the others arrived. "Thank you," he said, smiling warily. "I know I can always count on you to clean up after me"

"Really, you'd be an absolute mess without one of us kicking your ass back in line. Oh man, my favorite brand!" Out of the corner of his eyes, Roy saw Hughes leaning over the desk, smiling as he read the label on the whiskey bottle. He stiffened, but before Hawkeye could comment on his sudden change in demeanor, he was out the door.

_Not happening, not happening, not happening…_

"Roy! Hey Roy, wait up!" Hughes called after him, but Roy only quickened his long strides down the halls of Central Headquarters until he was finally outside and could take a long, deep breath of fresh morning air. He exhaled, and hesitantly looked back over his shoulder through the glass door. No sign of imaginary Hughes. He sighed in relief and turned back around to head down the stairs-

"What are you in such a hurry for?" Hughes asked, standing nose to nose with Roy.

"Hu…how did?" Roy started, and Hughes laughed.

"I'm not use to this whole being dead thing yet. I was chasing after you like an idiot when I remembered, duh! I can totally teleport in this form. Pretty neat trick, eh?"

Roy narrowed his eyes at the aberration, squared his shoulders, and stomped past him leaving a confused, mildly put-off Hughes trailing behind him.

"Oh lighten up Roy. C'mon! Quit ignoring me! I came all this way to haunt you and you act like you can't even hear me. Hello? Are you listening?"

Hughes continued to babble in the background, but Roy was focusing intently on drowning out the sound of his voice with reason. His reasoning led him to believe that perhaps, just maybe…he was going insane.

"That's not it," Roy voiced aloud, and Hughes stopped his whining and craned his neck to listen in as Roy talked to himself. "If I'm sane enough to acknowledge that I'm delusional then I _can't_ be insane, and so long as I don't entertain my delusions I should be able to function normally." He stopped walking, and closed his eyes. "Eventually, I'll get over this and resume normalcy again."

"Oh please, since when were you ever normal?" Hughes snorted. "Big shot alchemist, notorious lady-killer, hero of Ishbal, already in the rank of Colonel at the age of thirty-"

"Twenty-nine" Roy corrected. Hughes's perked up at the response, and Roy cursed under his breath and continued down the sidewalk.

"Oh, well not for much longer! Anyway, do I even need to mention the fact that you are playing parent for two kids who are the _farthest_ from normal as they come? You aren't going to start ignoring me again, are you? Roy? Rooooy. Seriously!"

Finally fed up with being shunned by his supposed "best friend," Hughes darted forward and ran _through_ Roy. Roy froze in place as he felt a wave of cold pass through his body, a puff of stream exiting his mouth even though the weather was far too warm for it. He wrapped his arms around himself and shivered, glaring up at Hughes who leaned forward and mimicked Roy with a devious smirk.

"Creepy," he said, then stood straight again with his arms crossed in front of his chest. "I know you stubborn, alchemist types. I've been dealing with you for _years_ now. You want some proof that you're not just stark-raving mad, right?"

Roy debated on whether or not to reply, given he was already busy trying to come up with a rational reason behind his sudden chill that did not involve spirits of any kind. He could be coming down with a cold, which was better than going crazy. The puff of stream was obviously a cloud of dust or something that had been stirred up by the wind. Yeah, that's it.

Against his better judgment, Roy replied.

"That would be nice."

"Alright!" Hughes cheered, observing their surroundings in preparation. They'd made it all the way from headquarters to the park near Roy's apartment. Hughes scratched his chin and nodded to himself, devising a plan for proving his existence. "Okay, call those kids over here to come stand witness so you won't brush this off as another figment of your imagination."

Roy gave him a dirty look for mocking his delicate state of mind, then hollered for two young boys to come over to the sidewalk. The children looked at each other, wondering what a military man would want with them before hesitantly trotting over to where Roy was standing. Hughes pushes his sleeves up and rubbed his hands together.

"Ask 'em if they want to see something cool," he told Roy. Roy relayed the message to the boys and watched Hughes lift his hand, palm forward, towards one of the street lamps overhead. The bulb buzzed, flickered, and snapped on.

"Whoa!" one of the boys exclaimed. "Did you do that?" Roy looked down at them, then back at Hughes who just shrugged and smiled.

"I can control anything electrical. I think it's because spirits are composed of pure energy, or something." He waved his hand through the air and two more lamps came on earning more impressed 'awes' from the kids. "At least, that's what I read once. I can make telephones ring and mess with the transmitters throughout headquarters too."

"So that was you last night?" Roy asked, and the kids exchanged glances again, this time wondering whom the military man was talking to.

"Yeah," Hughes laughed. "The ghost appears just before the lights go out. That's how it is in the movies anyway, but of course, my theatrical entrance was completely wasted on you." Hughes pouted at that, and then turned on the lights across the street. "Still, pretty cool though, right? It's like having a super power."

"Hey boys," Roy said to the children. He put his hands on his knees and kneeled down to their level. In a deceptively kind voice he asked, "Do you want to see something _really_ cool?" The kids stepped back a few feet, not buying the stranger's sweet tone for a second. Roy reached into his pocket and pulled out his signature glove. He stood up as he slipped it over his hand, aimed his attention at the first street lamp, and snapped. The bulb burst with a high-pitched pop and sizzled in flames.

"AWESOME!" The kids cried in unison, and Hughes frowned.

"Show-off. Did you completely miss the point here?"

"No, I get it Hughes," Roy said after shooing the boys off. "So what is this? You have unfinished business and can't move on?"

"Hmm," Hughes tapped his chin and looked up, the sun causing a glare on his glasses. "Something like that, but you know how these things go, don't you?"

"Ah," Roy nodded, not that he'd had much experience with ghosts. "So this would be a case where a spirit appears to teach some sort of lesson, correct? Although, if I'm the one you are suppose to teach a lesson, you won't just tell me what it is. I have to figure it out myself with your _helpful_ guidance."

"It's not polite to mock the affairs of the afterlife, Roy."

"Forgive me," Roy said sarcastically as he started up on his route home again, oblivious to Hughes's dramatic eye-roll behind him.

"So, how have things been since I kicked-the-can as they say?" Hughes's casually asked as he matched Roy's stride beside him.

"Obviously not as well as one would hope given that I'm seeing ghosts."

"Yeah, getting drunk on the clock was definitely not your finest moment," Hughes joked. "Man, Hawkeye looked pissed. I thought for sure she was going to send you home with a few bullet holes."

"It's my fault she's been so stressed lately," Roy admitted.

"Lately?" Hughes quipped. He attempted to nudge Roy with his elbow, but as expected, his arm passed through his friend's and jolted him with cold instead. Roy gave him a dirty look and Hughes smiled apologetically. "In all seriousness though, you ought to knock it off with that counting thing. I think you're freaking people out with it."

"You've been spying on me, Hughes?"

"Can't help it. Guilty consciences attract us dead folks like moths to a flame."

"Us?" Roy questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Well yeah, I'm not the only ghost lingering around head quarters. There are a lot of soldiers with a lot of regrets." Hughes answered levelly. "And what's with the formalities, _Colonel_? I've known you since you were just a pipsqueak cadet at the academy, remember?" That earned a faint smile from Roy.

"You're right, Maes."

"You were such a weird kid, you know that? Hell, if it weren't for me, you'd probably still be a quiet loner convinced girls had cooties."

"Correction," Roy said, sticking his nose in the air with the haughty attitude he always adopted when he was preparing to put someone in his or her place. "After observing the behavior of adolescent boys who interacted with members of the opposite sex during my youth, I noted a drastic change in the interests and attitudes of my classmates who engaged in regular activities with females and concluded that these females in question must have been infecting them with some type of unknown virus."

"Cooties," Maes nodded.

"No, I believe my theory leaned more towards a genetically engineered brain-washing virus. It was far more complex than the average child's fear of 'cooties' I assure you. Needless to say," Roy added with a certain twinkle in his eye. "I grew out of that."

"I forget. Who was it who devised that elaborate story about you secretly being the descendant of eastern royalty and convincing half the female youth that shy and paranoid _really_ meant mysterious and hard to get? Don't I deserve some thanks for turning your lack of social skills into sex appeal?"

"Please," Roy continued. "If I didn't already have the natural charisma, good looks, and superior talents necessary to attract young women like, what was your choice analogy before? Moths to a Flame? Your cheap gimmicks would have amounted to nothing."

Maes cringed at his friend's ego stroking, not to mention the god-awful pun.

"And yet, the infamous Flame's Average Jo sidekick still managed to slip a ring on the finger of a beautiful maiden before he did," Maes bragged. "How's the single life treating you, Roy?"

"To many options and few obligations," Roy returned. Maes shook his head and sighed. "Besides," Roy persisted. "A man with ambitions such as mine wouldn't be able to provide for a woman properly in the long run. It'd be unfair to burden her with my personal goals"

"If you say so," Maes half-heartedly agreed.

"In any case, are we going to continue with this small talk all day? I have a headache, you know," Roy complained, massaging his temples.

"You need to stop blaming yourself for things you have no control over, and more importantly, you need to allow yourself to grieve if you truly want to move forward. It's not your fault I was careless and got myself killed."

Roy brought a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his thumb and middle finger into the inner corners of his eyes. How could Maes speak about his death so nonchalantly when it was tearing Roy apart?

"It's not that simple," was all he could say.

"Hey Roy," Maes prompted, waiting for Roy to lift his head to look at him. "Do you remember how we first met?"

Roy thought about it for a moment.

It had been early on in his formal schooling, perhaps during his 3rd year of education, but he'd been seeing a private tutor on the side that specialized in a particular science that peaked Roy's interest. Roy mostly kept to himself and ignored his classmates, sketching arrays on the backs of worksheets and working out various formulas in his head, and on that day curious boy peaked over his shoulder with wide eyes and asked, "What's that?"

"Nothing!" He replied, quickly trying to hide the papers on his desk, but the imp behind him slipped a hand under his arm and snatched one.

"Is this for an advanced level class?" He asked, examining the paper, and Roy turned a shade of pink and scrambled to grab the paper out of the other boy's hand, failing miserably.

"Give it back!" He hissed under his breath. "You're going to get us in trouble!" The boy titled his head, rectangular-lens glasses sliding down is nose a bit.

"I'll give it back if you tell me what it is," he bargained. Roy glared at the boy who just smiled stupidly back at him. Finally, he slumped his shoulders in defeat and tried to explain.

"It's alchemy, something they don't teach in school."

"Alchemy?"

"Yeah, it's a science the focuses on the natural flow of energy and how a person can harness that energy through the use of different arrays," he said, taking the paper out of the boy's hand and smoothing the crinkles out of it.

"Is that what that is? An array? What's it for?" As the boy inquired more, he leaned uncomfortably closer to Roy.

"This," Roy said, holding the paper between them as a shield. "Is a fire array."

"Oh!" The boy gasped, eyes sparkling. He was clearly impressed. "How does it work?"

"It's far too complicated for you to understand," Roy said, turning back around in his seat. Although secretly, he felt really proud of his knowledge on the subject and hoped the boy would want to know more. It was the first time anyone had ever really paid attention to him.

"C'mon!" The boy whined behind him. "Show me how it works. _Please_" Roy couldn't help but smile to himself.

"Okay," he whispers, running a finger along the outer ring of the circle. "You just kind have to concentrate to get it to work right." In the center of the circle, there was a tiny spark. "See?"

"That's it? That's not that great. I get more of a charge running around in my socks at home. You should make it bigger." The boy insisted.

"Uh…well, okay, just a little bigger though," he reluctantly agreed, and this time the tiny spark flickered a bit and hovered as a small flame above the paper. If it weren't for the fact that the two boys were seated so far back in the classroom at the time, Roy was certain they would have been caught by now.

"Hmm, maybe you just need help concentrating," the youth behind him suggested, reaching forward to touch the array as well.

"Wait! Don't!" Roy yelled, jerking his hand to the side and the next thing everyone knew, there was a loud explosion in the back of classroom 12-B. Roy sat in a daze behind his charred desk, soot covering his face and the face of the youngster behind him who was still grinning even as their teacher scowled down at them. All Roy could think was how his mother was going to have his _ass_ when he got home.

"Who is responsible for this?" Their teacher demanded, and Roy cowered in his seat.

"Sorry sorry!" The other boy chimed. "I didn't mean to burn your desk. I just wanted to show you a neat trick."

"Uh…" Roy's just left his mouth hang open in confusion as the boy was dragged off to the principles office by his ear, yelping in pain.

"By the way!" He hollered just before disappearing out the doorway. "My name's Maes! Okay?"

Thinking back on their first real encounter with one another, Roy decided that Maes had no right to call him a weird kid when he was damn near certifiable as a child. Although, there were those few eccentricities the man never did grow out of.

"I remember you were suspended from school for three days and carried a pillow to sit on for the following week."

"Yeah," Maes laughed. "My dad really let me have it for that one."

"You were a bad influence." Roy teased.

"So what? I brought excitement into your childhood," Hughes beamed.

"Yeah, you did. And you always took the blame too. Is that what you are trying to do now?"

"We're just talking, Roy."

For a while, they did just that. They reflected on the juvenile pranks they pulled on their instructors and fellow students. Although it was mostly Maes instigating it and Roy getting dragged along, but by the time they made in to their 6th year, Roy was coming up with his own ideas and could no longer pretend like he wasn't having fun. They reminisced on how Maes thought Roy was a freak for loving math and political science so much, and how Roy thought Maes was a freak for taking the same classes as he did when Roy knew Maes hated them and _just_ wanted to stir up trouble. Although, in the later years, Maes did take a legitimate interest in government classes, specifically the courses dealing with the justice system and criminal prosecution.

"I think I wanna be a cop when I grow up," Maes said one day in their 9th year.

"Really? You think they'd let you become one with the record you've been building up? You'd have to start behaving if you want to join law enforcement."

"I guess," Maes conceded. "What do you wanna to be?"

"Mmmm," Roy pondered the question. "A hero."

"I meant seriously, Roy."

"I am serious. I want to become a great alchemist and use my skills to make the world a better place."

"You just want glory so you can get all the pretty girls."

Roy blushed.

"That is not true," he argued.

"Whatever. If that's what you want to do, then I get to be your sidekick."

"Why? I don't need a sidekick."

"See! You just don't want to share! Glory hog!" Maes screamed accusingly, then tackled Roy and pinned him in a headlock. "Admit it!"

"No! I don't care about glory _or_ pretty girls! Get off me!" Roy shoved Maes back and sat there glowering and panting.

"You don't want a girlfriend someday?" Maes asked. "Don't you ever thinking about getting married or having kids?"

"Not really. I don't have time to get distracted by those sort of things," he told him, and it must have been this point in time that Maes decided that turning Roy into a delinquent was not enough. He was going to turn him into a ladies man before high school was through, and into a family man if it was the last thing he ever did.

"Now that I think about it, I'm not much of a sidekick anymore, considering I'm a Brigadier General now. I outrank you!" Hughes proclaimed with a bit _too_ much enthusiasm.

"Perhaps, but seeing as how I'm the only one of us still listed on active duty, I believe _I_ outrank _you_."

"Ah man, do you remember that one girl you were really into before you transferred schools?" Hughes said, completely ignoring Roy's comment.

"Which one was that?" Roy ventured. As awkward and annoying as Maes's match-making had been back then, Roy seemed to view his dating history as a list of conquests now, as if Maes hadn't played any part in that whatsoever.

"The pale girl with short, dark hair. She was kind of quiet, and you guys dated for a few months before she broke it off. Surely you remember the one girl who dumped _you_. Roy clenched his jaw.

"Can't seem to recall," he lied.

"Kristin! That was her name," Maes snapped triumphantly. "Whatever happened to her?"

"Don't know. I transferred." He didn't mention the rumors that followed him to military school that his former girlfriend, the only one to dump _him_ had taken an interest in the only girl to point-blank _reject_ him. That was a bit too cruel a blow to his budding ego.

"Right right, and I ended up transferring right after you too. Couldn't let you head off to fight a war without me."

"Says the man who ended up staying behind with a desk job."

"Hey, I served better here than I ever could have out in the field," Maes said, sounding a bit offended. "Remember that one time, during our 1st year in the training camp, when we got really _really_ drunk…" He deliberately trailed off just to see the recollection flicker in Roy's eyes.

"…No" Roy said, a faint blush Maes hadn't seen since back in school blooming in his cheeks. _He remembers_ "Hey Hughes," Roy interrupted before Maes could elaborate on any more embarrassing moments they may have shared. They both simultaneously stopped walking. "We've been talking for a while now, but something's been bothering me for some time."

Maes glanced over at his friend, but kept silent.

"You haven't asked about your family," he said quietly, eyes locked forward. Maes smiled fondly at his friend and joined him in admiring the house they had stopped in front of. Roy's apartment was just a five-minute walk from the park, and they had been discussing matters of the past for nearly an hour. Maes noted the change in route shortly after their departure from the park, but allowed Roy to guide them were he felt they needed to go.

"You haven't paid your respects to them have you?" Maes asked, already knowing the answer. Roy closed his eyes. He'd been putting it off since the funeral, too afraid to face the wife and child of a man who died because of him. It didn't matter if Maes told him it wasn't his fault, because Roy wouldn't allow Maes to take the blame for everything like he had when they were younger. They were both adults now, and Roy was responsible for Maes as much as Maes was responsible for him.

Yet, he was still so cowardly that he couldn't give the man's family what he owed them.

His apology and the explanation they deserved.

The walk to the front door of the Hughes house reminded Roy of the walk a sinner might make down the center isle of a chapel. He had never been a very religious man, but here he found himself guilt-ridden and on his way to confession. That was the point of this, wasn't it? To cleanse Roy's soul of sin and guilt? He didn't find that to be a comforting thought, using the widowed wife of his belated friend to ease his troubled conscience.

_Selfish selfish selfish, what more will I take from this woman?_

He berated himself for harboring insincere motives, but regardless, she needed to hear the truth of the matter. She needed to know why her husband was killed, and Roy needed to be the one to tell her. So he knocked and waited.

"Coming," a sweet voice rang out from within, followed by the sound of a latch being pulled back and the click of the door being unlocked. The knob twisted, as did Roy's stomach, and Gracia Hughes pulled the door open and peeked around the edge with wide, pale-green eyes. "Colonel Mustang. What a pleasant surprise," she said, with a soft, sad smile.

"Please," he choked, and paused to clear his throat. "There's really no need for formalities."

"Of course." She murmured, stepping back with door in hand. "Please, do come in, Roy."

Hours later, after a lengthy discussion, several cups of warm homemade tea, and an exchange of fond memories of a man they both loved, Roy stood on the front porch thanking Gracia for her hospitality and offering his condolences and assistance with anything she may need. He bowed politely and she returned a slight nod.

"You're welcome here anytime, Roy. You were always a good friend to Maes. He only had the best to say of you."

"Same for you. It was impossible to get him to shut up about you half the time." Gracia tried to smother her laughter, wiping at the tears that welled up in the corners of her eyes.

"He could be a handful sometimes," she whispered fondly. She shook her head and mustered the best smile she could for him under the circumstances, and told him "Be safe" before closing the door behind her.

Roy stuck his hands in his pockets and turned his head towards Maes at his right. Maes had his head tilted towards the closed door, his face expressionless from what Roy could tell. He exhaled slowly out his nose and asked Roy, "Do you know what my final thought was before I died?"

Roy didn't know if he was prepared for any revelations Maes may make about his final moments, and he still hated that Maes could talk as casually about his death as he did. He kept quiet and allowed Maes to speak freely anyway.

"I have a wife and kid to get home to," he said. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and looked at Roy. "Thank you for bringing me home, Roy."

Roy ducked his head in way of response, not trusting himself enough to speak. If this was the "unfinished business" or "lesson" or whatever it was that Maes was meant to do, then Roy completing this task for him meant that his ghost had no more reason to linger behind. He didn't feel he was up to another tearful goodbye, so he shrugged slightly and stepped down from the porch onto the concrete path that led to the sidewalk.

"Hey Roy," Hughes called from behind him. Roy paused, glancing up at Maes who stood regarding him with affectionate eyes and something Roy took for misplaced gratitude. "You know I support your decision to become Fuhrer, but I still think you should find yourself a good wife and settle down. There really is no joy like the joy of family."

_Maybe the man still has business here after all?_ Roy toyed with that thought for a moment, stroking his jaw with his forefinger.

"Well, there is one woman I've noticed," he mused.

"Oh?" Hughes was excited to here that.

"She's quite a catch. A good cook, pleasant personality, lovely face and figure too. Her husband recently passed away though, so-"

"Not funny Roy! You stay away from my Gracia!" Hughes exclaimed, and Roy threw his head back and laughed long and hard.

"C'mon, do you know how badly it would reflect on me were I hit on my dead friend's wife? Seriously, Maes."

Maes 'hmphed' and placed his hands on his hips, scowling menacingly at Roy.

"Whatever. I'm keeping my eye on you, just so you know."

"You always have," Roy said, and Maes puffed up with pride. Roy turned away from his companion and held his hand up in what resembled a motionless wave. "See you 'round, Hughes."

Although Roy could not see it, Maes reciprocated the gesture as his phantom form faded into nothing more than dust particles that shimmered in the early afternoon light.

_Not for a while, Colonel_


End file.
